


Roses Grow from Dirt

by Aurelius au Fabii (regionalsky)



Category: Red Rising Trilogy - Pierce Brown
Genre: A twist I promise, A young Pink becomes a Rose, Abuse, Cupid's Kiss, It's actually really interesting but horrific at the same time, Mild Brainwashing, Pinks, Roses, Roses are absolutely fascinating, The Garden, Training Pinks, oh boy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-08
Updated: 2018-07-08
Packaged: 2019-06-07 08:57:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15215618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/regionalsky/pseuds/Aurelius%20au%20Fabii
Summary: Joseph is a praeceptor, given the task of educating young Pinks into Roses in the Gardens. He's barely old enough to be a Rose himself, but he's risen quickly through the ranks from his skills in shadowdancing.One of his students is Asher, a young Pink from the Rosea line. He's one of the best of his class, and he's caught the eye of the Masters early. He reminds Joseph of himself maybe a bit too much- they're accelerating his training when he's very young.And that isn't a good thing.





	Roses Grow from Dirt

**Author's Note:**

> I've been obsessed with the idea of Roses since that scene with the Duke of Hands and Ephraim. They're honestly fascinating. Pinks are much more than sex slaves, and here's where I explore that.

"Asher, come." Joseph's soft voice floated over the rows of pallets, snapping Asher awake. He slowly sat up and stretched, feeling the thin sheets slide off of him.

The air of the Garden was warm and humid, always drifting with the scent of flowers. They had no need for blankets or even clothing- and sometimes, they went without. Asher was wrapped in a small, dark brown robe, meant for the learning young of the Garden. 

Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, Asher approached the taller boy. Joseph stood by the end of the palettes, slim frame wrapped in a white robe. His pastel hair curled over his left eye, shining softly in the dim light.

He stood in front of his instructor, praying that this morning, at least once, the gods would spare him. 

Joseph said nothing, just studied him. His hands were placed in the folds of his white robe, his head tilted to the side. Asher stood straight on his bare feet, dread filling him as he felt the beginnings of the pain build at the nape of his neck. He couldn't stop himself from wincing as the morning burn crept down his back. His shoulders tensed as the pain reached his neck, traveling up his spine and rattled around his skull. A relentless, pounding headache formed, forcing Asher to close his eyes. Fear jumped through his stomach. A direct display of his imperfection, his inability to control his pain. He almost didn't want to open his eyes. 

When he opened them, Joseph was staring at him with a face full of pity. 

"That bad this morning?" He asked, voice as light as a summer breeze.

Asher shrugged, then stopped himself. "The pain is… bearable."

"Do you want it to be fixed?" Joseph asked, leaning forwards. "It could all be gone."

There was a lie lurking behind the boy's rose quartz eyes. It wasn't possible. Pinks were supposed to be perfect. Any imperfections were fixed with termination. He wasn't supposed to feel this pain, but if he ignored it- if he used every bit of his new skill to hide it- he might just slide by. 

They didn't care what he felt, anyway. The only thing that the Masters of the Gardens cared about was what his keeper experienced.

"Young one, your face betrays you," Joseph laughed coldly. "You don't believe me."

"My pain does not need to be fixed," Asher said quietly. "I can bear it."

The slap came hard and fast, knocking Asher's already aching head to the side. Ignoring the pain, he refused to give in and allow himself to touch it. His hand twitched at his side, but he resisted curling it into a fist as well. Those would result in another slap, or worse.

Joseph grabbed the back of his head, long fingers clutching Asher's short, straight hair. His fingernails dug into his scalp as Joseph pulled him forward, putting his lips close to Asher's ear. 

"Do you know why I slapped you?" He whispered softly.

Asher didn't answer, just breathed deeply and tried to ignore the pain searing down his spine. The tug on his hair was nothing compared to his morning burn.

"You  _ lied _ to me," Joseph breathed. "And I know you're lying, not because I know the truth, but because I can see you." He dug his fingernails in deeper. "You have no control over your body. It is like you have learned nothing."

"I- I was in pain," Asher murmured, closing his eyes. "I'm sorry-"

"Pain is when we most need the lie!" Joseph snarled. "You must  _ never _ show anyone you are in pain, unless it's what they crave. You only show pain when they want it. Do you understand, puer?"

"Yes, _ praeceptor _ ," Asher tried to keep the whine out of his voice, but he couldn't stop the pain from leaking through. 

"Again," Joseph growled, "but like you  _ mean _ it."

Taking a deep breath, Asher forced the pain out of his mind. "Yes,  _ praeceptor _ ," he murmured, pulling the honey into his voice. "As you wish it."

"There you go," Joseph muttered sweetly, releasing his hair. "You are learning." He smoothed down his own hair before continuing. "Today, you are moving on."

Taking the boy's hand, he led him around one of the tall hedges blocking them from the main path. Asher's bare feet sank into the dark, rich soil. 

A Brown passed them, carrying white towels in his outstretched arms. He was followed by a Red dragging gardening equipment. While the other colors walked on rough white stones, the Pinks kept to the soft dirt. The soles of their feet were as thin and soft as the rest of their body and would bleed easily. 

Asher blinked. Sunlight had barely begun to touch the glass panels of the greenhouse, and no other Pinks had risen yet. He and Joseph seemed to be the only ones wandering the paths of the Garden.

Joseph still held his hand, lightly but firmly. Asher studied the tall, thin boy. Before, he'd put his age at his mid twenties, but now he saw that the boy couldn't be older than twenty one. His white skin glowed in the low light, his high cheekbones illuminated with the thinnest sheen of sweat. 

Sweat was the one thing Pinks could not control in expressing their emotions. Otherwise, Joseph was well in control of his body. He walked with practiced ease, slender legs dancing across the ground. Pinks were designed to sweat less, but the telltale shine on Joseph's forehead expressed his nervousness. 

Asher knew better than to ask. He chewed his lip, a bad habit, but one he couldn't help. 

They reached a door on the far side of the greenhouse, one that Asher had never been through before. Joseph twisted the handle and led him in, sitting him on a table. He opened a small door and pulled out white robes like his own. 

He handed them to Asher, who pulled off his own brown robes. Modesty was not something taught to Pinks.

The white cloth was light and soft- it draped over Asher's slight frame, hanging off his shoulders and hips. Joseph handed him a small gold sash.

"What's happening?" Asher asked as he tied it around his waist.

"The Masters have deemed you ready," Joseph said, stepping closer to him. "You're starting physical training." His slender hands fixed the sash, forming a loose knot that could be undone with a tug. 

"Physical?" Asher watched Joseph's fingers pull at the robe, pinching the thin fabric. "I'm not sure I understand,  _ praeceptor. _ "

Dread long burrowed in Asher's gut burned to life, consuming him with fear. Pinks were made- they were  _ created _ for pleasure, mental and physical. He'd been learning the arts of shadowdancing, massage- the skills of a Rose. The skill he'd been dreading was the job that made Pinks a lowColor, the things he didn't think he'd be learning for years to come.

He'd misjudged. 

Joseph knew he understood, yet he still tried to explain. "You will learn how to provide physical pleasure, beyond the scope of what you already know, to your future keepers. That starts this morning, when you walk through these doors." He pointed to a pair of white french doors. "You will use everything I've taught you, puer."

"Does our time together end?" Asher asked. 

Joseph shook his head. "I will continue to instruct you in shadowdancing and the Rose arts." 

Asher nodded and took a deep breath, the pain still burning down his spine. He was ready. He could do it. He would do it- he had no choice. Ignoring the ache in his skull, he jumped off the table and landed on the smooth stone tiles of the floor. 

Joseph wrapped him in an embrace, folding his arms thin arms around Asher. He smelled of vanilla and fresh, clean soap, and his soft curls pressed against Asher's neck. 

"Stay strong,  _ maiori _ ," he whispered. "You will pass these trials." 

Softly pushing him away, Joseph took his hand and led him to the door. 

Touching the handle, Asher opened the door and stepped in. Joseph closed it behind him.

The room was white, softly lit. Muted strings played, filling Asher's ears with quiet music. A white pallet rested on a dais in the center of the room, with white steps leading up to it. A woman and a man, both Pinks, sat on cushions around the pallet. They faced away from him. 

"Come, Asher," the man said. His hair was short, cut close to the back of his head. The woman had long hair the color of amaranths, tied in a loose bun. 

Ignoring the fear growing within him, Asher started up the steps. When he reached the top, he opened his mouth to speak. " _ Praeceptor _ , I-"

A wave of pure joy swept over him, sending shivers up and down his body. He gasped at the relief, the pure  _ pleasure _ that filled his body, shook his bones and curled his fingers into a fist. 

"That, young one, is what you can feel if you obey," the woman said sweetly, not turning around.

"However," the man added,"if you do not obey us, we will take that feeling away."

As quickly as it had come, the relief was gone, and the burn swept consumed his spine again, the pounding forced its way back to his head. Asher cried out in pain and clutched his head- the pain was the worst he had ever felt. 

"Kneel," the woman said, turning. 

Asher sank to his knees and bowed his head, shaking when the reprise of pain washed over him. "Th- thank you,  _ praeceptor _ ," he moaned. "I-"

"Silence or we take it," the man said. "I am Samuel, and this is Isabella. This room is the only place you will feel pleasure at the magnitude you are currently experiencing it. If you disobey us, you will lose the privilege of this room."

 

Behind a hidden window, Joseph shook his head, fingering the device in his pocket. The Masters used the same speech, the same ploy, every time. It had never failed. The lack of pain was euphoric to children that had felt it their entire lives- knew all too well. Subconsciously, Joseph rubbed the back of his neck. 

He wished there was another way. He truly did. Seeing Asher bend to his knees, submit to the will of the Masters, their Gold keepers- it tore at his heart. Joseph didn't want to care for the boy. It was against protocol to care about students.

Yet, he couldn't stop the aching sorrow spreading through him as he watched the small boy remove his robe, fingers shaking in newfound relief. 


End file.
